The Unexpected Tribute
by Technomad
Summary: What if Peeta, not Katniss, had been Reaped to go to the Quarter Quell...and Haymitch had stepped forward to volunteer? Even if Peeta didn't want him to?
1. Chapter 1

The Unexpected Tribute

a Hunger Games fanfiction

by Technomad

Chapter 1.

 _From the memoirs of Peeta Mellark._

I remember the day of the Reaping as though it were yesterday. Of course, the Capitol's announcement that the Quarter Quell's Tributes would be Reaped from the ranks of previous victors had been a shock, but after Katniss and I had forced their hands in the previous Games, they felt they had to do something to assert their dominance. Katniss said that they were like any other wounded animal; if something threatened it, that something, whatever it was, had to be destroyed. And we, just because we both wanted to live, were a threat.

We'd been training up for some time, rather like the Career Tributes. Haymitch had been a fountain of information. He'd been going to the Capitol every year for decades, and knew a great deal about all the other Victors. When we'd come home, he had welcomed us, in his snarky way, to "the most exclusive club in Panem." Victors have a bond among themselves; even seeing one Victor's Tributes killing or being killed by another's doesn't shake that bond. Nobody else in all Panem knows what being a Victor is like. And I have too much compassion to ever wish that they would know.

The three of us, Haymitch, Katniss, and me, were marched into the square by the new Peacekeepers. This new bunch weren't at all like the rather slack, corrupt group we'd had for so long. Like it or not, our victory had turned the Capitol's baleful eye toward our district, and a lot of what they'd seen hadn't pleased them at all. The rules had been tightened up and were being enforced ruthlessly. They had raided the Hob, disrupting the system of low-level commerce we used to keep ourselves afloat, and these days, the electric fences were on almost all the time, making Katniss' and Gale's hunting trips all but impossible. The whipping post had been put back into use, and I knew that quite a few of my neighbors' backs bore the mark of the Peacekeepers' lashes.

However, we had not been cowed. The impression I had was that most people were biding their time, awaiting the particular moment when they could strike back, _hard_. On our Victory Tour, Katniss and I had seen signs and portents: graffiti of the Mockingjay, people quietly giving us the District 12 salute for one that is loved, and things like that. The Peacekeepers had clamped down brutally on any such signs of dissent, but they couldn't be everywhere, and they were always outnumbered. My thought was that our little rebellion in the Arena had lit the fuse, and an explosion was on the way.

As we were marched in, the people we passed were silent and outwardly impassive, but I could tell what they were thinking. I'd known these people all of my life, after all. They were outraged; as outraged as I was myself. The deal had always been: _Win the Hunger Games, and you are immune from Reaping for the rest of your life, and get to live a life of leisure and luxury_. The Capitol had blatantly reneged on the terms of the deal, and even those of us most resigned to the way things had always been were upset about it. The Peacekeepers were aware of the way people felt, and I could feel their nervousness, even behind those impassive facemasks the new ones wore.

We walked through an echoing, ominous silence up to the platform, where Effie Trinket was waiting for us, along with the local dignitaries. I had come to know Effie, and I could tell that she was not happy at all about what she was doing. Her mouth was twisted in a rictus grin, but anybody who'd met her would know that she was upset. Her eyes gleamed with unshed tears.

We stood up there, patiently, as the same old movie was shown that is shown every year, about the war, the Dark Days, the Treaty of Treason and the start of the Hunger Games. I could have recited the soundtrack, word for word, and so could almost everybody else in the audience save only the youngest children. Finally, mercifully, the platitude-laden paean to the glorious Capitol's justice, generosity and mercy came to an end, and we could get to the business of the day.

Effie tottered over to the bowls; those incredibly high heels she wears aren't really suited to conditions here in District 12. My brothers and I used to speculate about what would happen if she fell flat on her face in front of us. Now I know; she wouldn't be back next year, we'd have a new Reaper, and she'd be an Avox. She may _be_ an empty-headed Capitol frill, but she _doesn't deserve that_. Unobtrusively, I poised myself to offer her my arm if she looked like she was going to fall. I tensed up until she made it safely over to the bowl.

Her voice was uncharacteristically soft as she said: "As always, ladies first." She reached into the bowl and took the one slip out, her hand trembling. The silence stretched out as she unfolded the slip and husked: "Katniss Everdeen." Effie held out her arm and Katniss came over from where the Victors stand, to stand with Effie and be introduced as the new Tribute. The crowd looked on, silent, but radiating disapproval. The expressions I saw ranged from blank, to grim, to scowling angrily.

" _Won_ derful!" Effie tried to put some of her usual ebullience into her voice, but it didn't work. A little kid could have perceived that she wasn't happy. Then she tottered over to the other bowl. "And now, for the boys." She reached in, pulled out one of the two slips that nestled at the bottom, and went back to her microphone. She unfolded it, and read out a name: "Peeta Mellark!"

For all that I had known that this was coming, I still felt a sick falling feeling inside. Just like I had last time. I had thought, in my innocence, that after the last Games, I was off the hook. Then the Capitol's treachery had warned me that this could happen, but I had hoped that I would still be spared. I stepped forward, only to be yanked back by a hand on my shoulder.

Haymitch Abernathy stepped forward. "I volunteer as tribute!" he announced, stepping up beside Effie.

I suddenly felt outraged. Who was Haymitch, to take _my_ place beside Katniss? I grabbed his shoulder to spin him around, when all of a sudden, he grasped my hand and did something I can't really describe. All I know is that all of a sudden, I was bent over, gasping in pain, as Haymitch looked at me impassively.

In a low voice, for my ears alone, Haymitch murmured: "I may have taught you everything _you_ know about the Games, kid…but I didn't teach you everything _I_ know!" When he let go of my arm, all I could do for a few seconds was shake it to try to get some feeling back in it. Haymitch stepped back to Effie's side, and suddenly, the crowd reacted.

First Prim, then Mrs. Everdeen, then Gale, then more and more people raised their hands in the traditional salute to say farewell to one who is greatly loved. A soft chant started, growing and swelling: "Haymitch! _Haymitch!_ _**Haymitch!"**_ It grew, until it echoed off the buildings. The Peacekeepers looked around themselves uncertainly, fingering their weapons and clearly wondering if this was going to turn into a riot.

I could tell that Haymitch himself was startled. He'd never really been popular; his drunkenness, his prickly personality and the yearly deaths of the Tributes he was supposed to mentor had assured that. But now, all that was forgotten, and all people saw was one of their own, stepping forward to certain death even when nobody at all would have blamed him for staying out. For the first time since his victory, Haymitch knew that he was loved, and I could see that it startled him. He raised his hand, returning the salute, as Katniss turned and saluted him. That brought quite a few people in the crowd to tears.

Effie finally gasped out: "Wonderful!" She put her arms around Haymitch's and Katniss' shoulders, and then the Peacekeepers sprung into action. I suspect their commander gave them an order; those helmets they wear include radio transceivers.

In unison, they came up the stairs, bundling all four of us into the Justice Building. This was different from how it had been before. They were shoving us onto the train even as Katniss was gasping: "I get to say goodbye!" The last view I had of my people were their horrified faces as they saw us hauled away on the train.

Once we were alone, I turned on Haymitch. "You son-of-a-bitch, what do you mean, volunteering? That spot was mine!"

Haymitch leaned close, close enough that I could smell his breath. For a guy who seemed to take such bad care of himself, he had surprisingly good breath, a small part of me noted. The rest of me was paralyzed by his eyes. Even in the arena, I had never seen such a frightening look in my life. For the first time, I remembered that this man had won a Quarter Quell, against twice the number of opponents Katniss and I had faced.

"Listen, kid," Haymitch said, his voice low and even, "I'm still your _elder_. As such, I do like a certain _minimal_ amount of respect, and that, of the commonest and ordinariest variety. I'm also your mentor, still. As such, my job is to keep you and Katniss alive. No matter _what_ it takes. Got me?"

I nodded. Haymitch smiled. "Good! Then we understand each other, don't we, _mentor_?"

"Loud and clear!" I gulped.

"Then let's rejoin the ladies. They're probably worried about what we're up to." We went on into the next room, where Katniss and Effie were waiting for us. They gave us anxious looks, so, to cheer them up, I grinned and clapped Haymitch on the back.

"Looks like Haymitch and I have swapped places," I said, trying to keep my voice light. "I've never mentored anybody before, but I knew I'd have to start doing it this year." Katniss' eyes went wide, and Effie gave us a watery smile. I could tell she'd been crying. While I still think she's a complete airhead, I don't think it's her fault, and I hate to think of her being hurt.

Haymitch and I sat down, and I turned to him. "So. This mentoring thing. What do you suggest we do for starters?"

"I'd suggest some food, to begin with. We didn't get any breakfast." As though they'd been waiting for Haymitch's words, a couple of Avoxes came in and began setting us up with a table, pulling plates off a covered cart and setting them out for us. As we moved over to the table, Haymitch gave me a look. "Where are your _manners_ , Peeta? Help Katniss with her chair!"

I blushed. I'd seen that done, on the television, but never done it. I pulled out Katniss' chair and she sat down, giving me a quizzical look, as Haymitch gallantly did the same for Effie. I caught Haymitch's eye, and he gave me a wink. Inside, I relaxed a little for the first time since I'd awakened that morning knowing that come what may, I'd be on the train to the Capitol before sunset. Ostensibly, I'd be mentoring, but Haymitch was still our guide through this dangerous world. He'd just picked a different way to do it, and I knew that Katniss' life was as safe with him as it could ever be anywhere in Panem.

As always, the food was incredibly good. I'd heard that some Tributes stuffed themselves so much on the train that they were sick by the time they got to the Capitol, and I could believe it. Biting into a delicate puffed pastry, I wondered if, as a mentor, I would get a chance to meet some of their master bakers. I was already very good at my craft, but I knew there was much I had yet to learn.

END Chapter 01


	2. Chapter 2

The Unexpected Tribute

Chapter Two

by Technomad

Katniss Everdeen

This was something I hadn't really thought about. When I'd pictured myself returning to the Capitol for a second round of the accursed Hunger Games, I'd always thought Peeta would be my partner. After all, we were the "star-crossed lovers" whose story had captivated the country. Our mutual survival was, I knew, a large part of why President Snow had so pointedly arranged the Third Quarter Quell of the Hunger Games the way he had.

In our interview, when he'd shown up so unexpectedly in our house in Victors' Village, Snow had made it clear that he hated me. If he hated me, he hated Peeta just as much. Both of us had been complicit in spoiling the ending of the 74th Hunger Games. And he wanted us both dead. I had seen the hatred in his eyes, both when he put the crowns of victory on our heads, and when he'd spoken to me in our house.

I doubt that Haymitch Abernathy had even entered into his calculations, Victor though he undoubtedly was. I knew there was more to him than the "surly drunk" act he put on, but most people did not know him as well as I did. President Snow had not expected this development, and I pictured his fury when the news got to him.

As a mentor, Peeta was, at least in theory, off-limits. While "accidents" were by no means impossible, from the second we stepped foot in the Capitol, we'd be under the glare of thousands of lights and in the view of hundreds of cameras. President Snow had great power, but he was not absolutely all-powerful. If the people of the Capitol turned against him, he could be overturned quite easily. And the people of the Capitol loved their Hunger Games victors.

Thinking of Snow made me wonder if this train was the same one he had taken when he had come out to speak to me some months before. I looked around uneasily, half-expecting to see his deceptively-grandfatherly face smiling that evil smile, or hear his soft, insinuating voice. I shuddered at the thought that he had been on this very train. But there was no way to know.

Haymitch, Effie, Peeta and I were served with a luxurious breakfast. While nobody detests the Capitol more than I do, I have to admit that the food they serve is the best I've ever eaten. While I ate, I thought resentfully of how many children back in District Twelve were probably hungry that morning.

I noticed something very odd. Although there was wine available, as well as what looked to be white liquor, Haymitch was sticking strictly to non-alcoholic refreshment. His glass, like mine and Peeta's, was filled with fresh-squeezed orange juice. The only person who was drinking anything alcoholic was Effie. For such a tiny woman, she could punish the white liquor remarkably well.

Haymitch saw where I was looking. "Got to keep a clear head, sweetheart," he said, giving me a wink. "The Games are no place for someone with a fuzzy head!"

For some reason, this got to Effie. She made a sort of gulping, squeaking noise, got up, and fled the table. I waited a minute or two, but when she didn't return, I said something under my breath about "shallow Capitol mannequin." I looked up, to see Haymitch and Peeta both glaring at me.

"There's no call for that," Peeta said sternly. "She hates this whole situation just as much as we do. And she has to keep that Capitol act up at all times in public."

"Well, she chose to do this…" I muttered, before Haymitch cleared his throat in a way that I knew meant that I was to pay him attention.

"For your information, _sweetheart_ ," Haymitch snarled through a smile, "she _wasn't_ given any choice about doing this job. I don't know if you know it, but the woman who Reaped me disappeared about eight years after I won the Quarter Quell." I did some rapid calculations in my head. That would have been about the year before Peeta and I were born. "Tiffany Bijou, that was her name." He looked slightly shamefaced. "You know, I haven't thought about her in years! We despised each other, probably about as much as you do Effie, but I noticed that she was gone and asked Effie. Apparently she hadn't liked it when two twelve-year-olds from District Twelve got killed in the first five minutes of the Fifty-Eighth Hunger Games. That was too much for her, she asked too many questions about why we have the Hunger Games…and she became an Avox."

I thought about that, and felt sick to my stomach. For all the bad things that can happen to us in District Twelve, that's one fate we don't face. I'd never heard of a District citizen becoming an Avox. Killed, yes…but being made a voiceless slave for the rest of one's life, and over such a petty thing, struck me as much worse. "I…I didn't know!"

"Neither did I." Haymitch's expression would never have been mistaken for a real smile. "That's not the only thing, either. Capitol citizens who get out of line can end up, along with their families, being used as prostitutes for powerful members of the Capitol elite. Effie said that even if she, herself, was willing to risk being made into an Avox, there was nothing at all she wouldn't do to protect her family. Sound like anybody _you_ know?"

Put that way, it hit me right where I lived. To keep that from happening to Prim, I'd have done anything at all. The Hunger Games, sleeping with whoever Snow told me to, whatever it took. And then it hit me just how insensitive I'd been. "Oh, that's awful! She's just as trapped as we are!"

"'Trapped' is a pretty good way to put it, sweetheart," Haymitch said. "All of us here on this train are trapped in our own individual ways. This whole country is one gigantic trap. I'd say even Snow is trapped, although he did a lot of the work to get that way all by himself."

"You're probably right." I felt dreadfully ashamed at how I'd misjudged Effie. "Er, may I be excused? I need to go find Effie." The men both raised their eyebrows. "I want to apologize to her," I clarified. At this, they both smiled.

"Go on. Find Effie," said Peeta. "I'd try her stateroom, but if she's not there, try the ladies' room."

As I got up, I said "Don't teach your grandmother to suck eggs, _mentor_ ," and both Peeta and Haymitch chuckled. I had to admit, being "mentored" by someone my own age, someone who'd been in the same Game I'd been in, was an incongrous situation.

When I came to the door of Effie's stateroom, I could hear her inside. I knocked on the door timidly, and when she sniffled "Come in," I entered. The décor was different from my room, and I could see that Effie used this same room every year. It had the mark of her taste all over it. Peeta, Haymitch and I all had just as much luxury, but our rooms were far more impersonal, since they were normally used by different people every year.

Effie was sitting on her bed, wiping her eyes. I felt a little helpless, but I had enough experience dealing with distress to at least make an attempt to help. Sitting down beside her, I put my arm around her. "I'm sorry, Effie. I hadn't realized how hard this is on you, too."

Effie put her arm around me, leaning her head against me. "It's never really been easy, Katniss," she said softly. "I know what you probably think of us, but we in the Capitol are human beings, too…and we have children."

This, to say the least, was unexpected. I'd never thought of Effie in that way. "Effie? You - ?"

Effie gave me a watery smile. "Why, yes. I have two boys, and a girl. Would you like to see their pictures?" At my nod, she pulled out a small album she'd had on her nightstand. "I keep them here so I can open it at night, before I go to bed, and feel that they're not so far away." She wiped her eyes. "The first times I went out to the Districts, they were terrified. 'Don't _go_ , Mommy! _Don't go_!' they cried. And when I got back, they clung and clung to me for most of a day."

I could imagine that. To most Capitol citizens, the Districts were the heart of darkness, and seeing your own mother going out into such a place would be terrifying for small children. I looked down at their pictures. They were blonde, and smiled uncertainly at the camera. The younger boy and the girl were both missing teeth, being at the age when baby teeth fall out to be replaced. They looked healthy and happy.

"You must love them an awful lot, Effie," I said softly. "They favor you, particularly around the eyes." I imagined how my mother would have reacted to those pictures, back before the dreadful loss of our father had sent her into a black depression. She'd have cooed in delight, and soon been absorbed in shop-talk with Effie about the ins and outs of raising children. Mom had never had boys, so Effie could have told her a few things she might not have known.

I'd never wanted to have children of my own. I'd seen what parents in my District had to go through, every Reaping day, and never wanted to face that ordeal. However, the fates had decreed that I face a different ordeal, and now had to go do it again, so my previous fear of that seemed small and insignificant. And Effie's three looked so delightful! Her oldest boy looked to be about Prim's age, and involuntarily, I wondered how they'd get along. Prim had reached an age where she no longer thought boys were "icky," and I'd heard her giggling with her friends about boys they knew, and about me and my so-called love life.

I'd never really had that luxury; at Prim's age I'd already been the family breadwinner for a while. I felt a second's passionate envy of Prim, and of Effie for being able to have children without worrying about them ending up in the Arena. Then I remembered all the other horrible things that could happen to Capitol citizens, and my envy turned to bile in my throat. I looked at Effie. "Haymitch told me why you do this. You don't like it, do you?"

Effie dabbed at her eyes. "No. I hate it. I hate every minute of it, and I despise myself for going through with it. I can't even take refuge in a bottle, the way Haymitch did for so long." She sniffled. "I have to be not just _a_ Capitol citizen, but the epitome of a Capitol citizen, every second of these events. If I were all alone in the world, I might risk rebellion." She dabbed at her eyes. "But even when I'm most afraid for them, I can't wish my children didn't exist!" She broke back down, crying.

This was a side of things I'd never thought about. I'd always thought of Effie as an airheaded Capitol fluff, with no more going on in her head than a rag doll. Imagining her as a mother, watching her children growing up, being as willing to do whatever it took to protect them as I was to protect Prim, shook the foundations of my world. I suddenly hated myself for being so preoccupied with my own selfish concerns. Even though Effie had a softer life than I'd had, she was also a human being, and now I could see that she was older than I had thought at first. Our lives in District Twelve tend to age us prematurely, particularly those who have to go into the mines. After a decade or so down the mines, Gale's youthful beauty would be a thing of the past, which made me sad, even though I didn't see him as a romantic possibility.

To get that bad stuff out of my mind, I asked Effie: "So tell me all about them. What are their names? What do they like in school - if anything?" Effie perked right up, and began filling me in on all the details about her children. I learned a lot about them in the next half an hour, as well as picking up details about daily life in the Capitol that I hadn't expected to get. I listened carefully; stuff that was commonplace to Effie was new and exotic to me, and since I didn't know how much more of a life I had ahead of me, I was grabbing greedily at every bit of it I could.

When we rejoined the men, we were obviously on good terms, and Peeta and Haymitch both smiled. "All is well, I trust?" asked Haymitch. I nodded.

Peeta turned to Haymitch and asked: "Now that Katniss is here, I need to pick your brains. I may be 'mentoring' you, but we all know that's utter hokum. You've been to more of these than all of us. Tell me what to expect."

Haymitch leaned back in his chair, the way he does when he's about to launch into a story. "Well, for starters, as a mentor, you'll be joining one of the most exclusive fellowships in all of Panem. This is one club where the membership requirement is much too high for most people. We Victors - that's all three of us here, Peeta - share a bond among ourselves that nobody else really understands." He glanced at Effie. "No offense meant, Effie."

Effie looked down at her plate. "None taken, Haymitch. I can imagine what binds you together, and I'm eternally grateful not to know what it's like firsthand."

Haymitch went on: "When you get there, you'll meet the other Victors. They're a varied bunch, to put it mildly. Some of them were long-shot winners, particularly those from the Districts who seldom or never have a winner. Like Twelve. Others are Career Tributes, from Districts where they have a _sub-rosa_ program to train promising candidates to volunteer for the Hunger Games."

"That's unfair!" I burst out. I remembered some of the younger Tributes from the previous year. Rue, in particular, suddenly burst back into my memory. "Those Careers are all of them at least as old as we were, and they've been trained, too?" I'd heard rumors to that effect, but having Haymitch confirm them was a different matter. I knew Haymitch, and I knew that while he would lie if he thought it necessary, he would not lie to us.

"As best they can be. And training's no guarantee of victory in the Arena, Katniss," Haymitch pointed out. "The Gamemakers make sure that it isn't just a straight-up fight. They throw things at the Tributes that'll take anybody out, trained or no. The Careers do have something of an advantage, but they're also often overconfident and contemptous of their opponents. Overconfidence and misplaced contempt are lethal."

I flashed back in my mind to when I'd really met Rue. I'd been cornered up a tree by the Career pack, plus Peeta, whom they'd recruited for his strength, and little Rue had pointed out the tracker-jacker nest to me. I'd had to be the one to cut it down, but having it land on them when they had stupidly gone off to sleep under my tree had done a lot, all by itself, to even up the odds. Even the toughest of the Careers was helpless against a nestful of enraged tracker-jackers. I shuddered, remembering the hallucinations I'd had from just a few of their stings. Mentally, I begged Glimmer's forgiveness, for the awful way I'd had to kill her. She might have been the worst bitch in Panem, but she hadn't deserved that!

One of the things I generally did not let myself think about was how the parents of the Tributes I'd had to kill had felt, seeing their child die on live TV, and knowing who had done it. When Peeta and I had gone on our first-ever double Victory Tour, I had wanted to go to all of the other Tributes' parents and apologize to them, beg their forgiveness for what I'd had to do.

I'd seen how dreadful that was a couple of years before I'd volunteered for the Games, when a young guy only a couple of years older than I was myself had been killed. It wasn't even a mine accident; much as we hate them, we in District Twelve have learned to accept mining's dangers as part of our way of life. Rather like I imagine people in District Four do for shipwrecks and drownings at sea, and District Seven people do for lumbering accidents. But he'd been murdered by a guy who resented the fact that the girl he'd married had turned the murderer down.

His parents had never been the same after that. It wasn't as bad as my mother, but it was bad enough. His mother would seem to be all right, then something would remind her of her lost boy and she'd collapse in a puddle of tears. And his father kept on keeping on - he had to, to keep food on the table and a roof over their heads - but he had a look on his face when he thought nobody was watching, a look like he was staring at something a very long way away. Haymitch had the same look sometimes, when he was sober.

I didn't hate the Hunger Games for the danger they put me through. I'm fairly used to danger, from my trips into the woods, and while I don't like the idea of dying, or being hurt, I can live with it. What I hated the Games for, more than anything else, was making me into a killer. Oh, I could rationalize what I'd done, at least by day. At night, though, the ghosts, particularly Glimmer, Marvel, Cato, and Rue, kept me company. They were my faithfullest friends, never very far away.

And I knew that I would have them with me for the rest of my life.


	3. Chapter 3

The Unexpected Tribute

Chapter Three

by Technomad

 _From the unpublished writings of Haymitch Abernathy_

When they marched us into the square for the "Reaping," I kept a poker face up, but inside, I was thinking: _Well, here we go_ _again_ _!_ The whole ceremony was a complete farce, of course. Since only previous Victors were being Reaped, and we only had one female Victor and two male Victors, it wasn't like there was much choice available.

Walking along, with my head high, I noticed that people really, really were unhappy about this whole situation. Just as I was. And Katniss, and Peeta. The people we passed were lined up in serried rows, as always, and I noticed, as we passed, that many of them, men and women alike, were either openly in tears, or were visibly suppressing signs of outrage. The Peacekeepers were a new bunch, brought in to replace the lax, corrupt men we'd come to know, and they seemed very nervous to me. It wouldn't have taken too much to trigger a full-scale riot.

As we passed, people made subtle signs to show that they were on our side. I had thought that my softer feelings were long since dead, but to my surprise, this touched me in ways I'd forgotten existed. I've been District 12's sole Victor for a long time, and had long since settled into my role of a surly drunk, living alone in my mansion in the otherwise-deserted Victor's Village. I had no friends, and desired none. I remembered, all too well, what had happened to my family after I won the Quarter Quell by using the Capitol's own damned force-field against my remaining opponent. The girl I'd loved had also fallen victim to the Capitol's vengeance. Since then, I had closed my heart. Forever, I thought.

At the previous Reaping, I had been up on stage with that clown they let pretend to be Mayor, and Effie, just like always, hoping to get through yet another of these ceremonies and wondering why I was still alive. Then something unexpected happened, and for the first time in over twenty years, I felt an unfamiliar sensation. Hope.

When Primrose Everdeen was Reaped, I could see that people were not happy about it, even less than they were at most Reapings. Primrose was only twelve years old, and everybody in District 12 loved her. Even I, in my lonely solitude, had noticed her, and how unforcedly good and compassionate she was. Once, I'd misoverestimated how much white liquor I could take aboard, and had got noisily, spectacularly sick in a side alley not far from the Hob. When I'd got done emptying my stomach of its contents, I had looked up blearily, to find Primrose looking at me. Before I could stop her, she was reaching out, trying to help me back to my feet. "Mr. Abernathy! Is there something wrong? Can I help you?" she asked. In her eyes, I saw something I had not seen for a long time. Pity.

Most people did not pity me, and I did not encourage them to. The "surly drunk" was an act, at least to some extent, but there was a lot of truth behind it. I resented everybody who had never had to face the Arena. At night, I often had nightmares where I was back there, and I would wake up, screaming my lungs out. That was one of several reasons why I had never taken up with a new partner after my girlfriend had died. She'd waited for me, and one reason I fought so hard was to get back to her. After she was killed, I rebuffed others' attempts to befriend me, preferring solitude and white liquor. Between that and the fact that others resented the luxurious house I occupied and the stipends I got from the Capitol, I became a man who walked alone.

But Primrose tried to reach out to me. You'd think that a drunk on his knees, spewing out half-digested food, would disgust her. Instead, she asked me if I were ill, if there was anything she could do for me. Me! I didn't have the heart to lash out at her with the sort of stinging words I used to keep others at bay. Instead, when I could speak, I croaked: "No, sweetheart. The things that are wrong with me, no one can fix." As I hauled myself up onto my feet, to stagger back to Victor's Village where I could be ill in my accustomed solitude, I remembered to say: "Thank you for asking, though, sweetheart." I may be District 12's most spectacular drunk, but I was raised here, and mountain manners are burned deep into my brain. I finally managed to get myself going, and as I left, I could feel her eyes on me.

So behind my "surly drunk" mask, I was just as unhappy to see her Reaped as anybody else in the District. And when her older sister, Katniss, spoke up unexpectedly, offering herself as a volunteer to go in her sister's place, I felt hope stirring in me. It was an unfamiliar sensation, but one I found that I liked.

I knew, none better, that drawing the Capitol's attention, particularly in such a spectacular way, could be dangerous. Accordingly, I lurched to my feet, making sure that people's attention was on me, as I gave her a sloppy kiss, then did a pratfall off the side of the platform. Down inside, I was promising myself that, come what may, _this_ girl was coming home again. Both for her own sake and for her sister's. I'd thought I was hardened to losing my Tributes, but this one, I would see wearing the Victor's crown if it was the death of me. And I had been to the Capitol more than enough times to know which strings to pull and who to talk to.

Much to my surprise, she and the boy who'd been Reaped with her, Peeta Mellark, managed to not only pull off a double victory, but made the Capitol and its Gamemakers look like a bunch of baboons into the bargain! When they were proclaimed joint victors of the 74th Hunger Games, we mentors erupted in wild cheers in our enclosure, but behind the jubilation, we felt fear. The Capitol would come up with some elaborate scheme for vengeance, and we all knew it.

Ever since we'd returned to District 12 and a heroes' welcome, I'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop. There had been substantial changes in the way things had always been since our return. The Hob had been forcibly shut down, and the slack Peacekeepers we'd become used to and more-or-less accepted as part of the scenery had been replaced by a bunch of sadists who loved nothing better than getting some poor soul triced up to the whipping post. Their commander was a man I knew by reputation, and what I knew was not good. I'd taken, more and more, to keeping a low profile, staying in my house at Victor's Village as much as I could.

But I'd had to take a hand in things a few times, at least once coming up against the Peacekeepers' commander, along with poor brave Katniss. A friend (and hunting partner, _sub-rosa_ ) of hers had been caught with illicit game, and was being flogged, when Katniss and I intervened. If we hadn't been Victors, that sadist would have probably gunned us both down where we stood for daring to defy him. But he had to know that Snow had something special cooked up for us, and if he killed _us_ , whatever the Capitol had in store for us would look like nothing compared to what they'd do to him. Peacekeepers can, and have, become Avoxes.

When we got the news about the Quarter Quell, I sat back and waited (after throwing something at my television screen). Sure enough, first Peeta showed up, begging me to do whatever I could to keep Katniss alive, then Katniss came around, to ask me to volunteer in Peeta's place, should his name be drawn. That hadn't occurred to me earlier, but when I had a chance to think about it, I liked the idea more and more. I'd had twenty-four years more than I probably should have, and they had been unpleasant, at best. I knew the swine in the Capitol were doing this as a way to get rid of Katniss and Peeta, and Victors or no, I was still, and would always be, their mentor. If I did this, I could at least save Peeta, and stick my finger in the eye of the Capitol. And it wasn't as though I feared death. In some ways, I had been trying to die ever since I'd returned from my victory. This would be a death that meant something, at least.

We three Victors, along with the Mayor and Effie, stood on the platform facing the crowd of our neighbors. A row of white-clad Peacekeepers separated us from the rest of District 12 as Effie ran through her usual spiel, following the showing of the inevitable video about the Dark Days and the beginning of the Hunger Games. Then she tottered over to the bowls. I could see that she was upset, and she wasn't as steady on her feet as I'd have preferred. I could see that Peeta was ready to help her if she stumbled, and I nodded to myself. That boy's the right kind of people. If I could have had a son, I'd want him to be like Peeta.

Inevitably, Katniss was drawn, to a sigh from the crowd. I could see Primrose in the front row of the spectators, and I saw her gasp and begin to tear up. Effie gave me an apologetic look as she went over to the other bowl, the one with two names. She drew a slip, opened it, and read "Peeta Mellark."

Peeta stepped forward, but I put my hand on his shoulder, holding him back, as I stepped forward. In a clearer voice than I'd had in some while (once we'd learned about the terms of the Quarter Quell, all three of us had done our best to train up as though we were Career Tributes, and I'd even given up drinking, not entirely voluntarily) I said: "I volunteer as tribute!"

Judging from the reaction of the crowd, this was the last thing they had expected. Peeta tried to protest, grabbing my shoulder, but I grabbed his hand and used a move that Cashmere had taught me after I'd seen her use it on a Capitol citizen who had got a bit too handsy for her taste. Peeta went nearly to his knees, his eyes wide with pain, gasping in shock, as I told him that I had taught him everything he knew about the Games, but not everything I knew. I could see Effie's eyes going wide. She had never really seen what I can do, even in my current state.

Effie put her hands on my and Katniss' shoulders, and announced that she and I were the Tributes for this year's Quarter Quell. Our neighbors stared, then, one by one, put their hands in the air in the District 12 farewell salute to one who is greatly loved, chanting my name. I had never expected that; I had thought that most people would be delighted to be rid of me at long last. I felt tears prickling at the corners of my eyes, and I was actually glad when the Peacekeepers bundled us out of there and on to the train. Katniss was protesting "I get to say goodbye!" Silly girl, to think that the Capitol feels bound to obey its own rules! If they had, we'd be mentors of a new boy and girl, not heading off to go back into the Arena!

Peeta, of course, was furious with me, but I was able to put him in his place easily enough. Unlike Katniss, he's not a rebel by nature, and in District 12, we're taught from childhood that elders are to be respected and obeyed. As we sat down to a luxurious Capitol meal, I smiled to myself as I speared a mouthful of omelet on my fork. Whatever else I had done, I had guaranteed Peeta Mellark's survival!

Effie was the only one drinking, and Katniss made a crack about her being a "shallow Capitol mannequin." I restrained myself from slapping Katniss, but it was with a real effort. I knew all too well what Effie had to go through, since I had to do something very similar every year. I explained a few things to Katniss, and she went off to apologize to Effie. When they reappeared, they were clearly on good terms, and I relaxed, or at least as much as I could.

I ran through what would likely be happening when we got to the Capitol. Katniss and Peeta both soaked up everything I could tell them, since they knew that I knew those people far better than they did. The rest of the day was uneventful, and I went to bed well satisfied. Oh, I had the urge to drink nagging at me, but I knew that Katniss' survival depended on me keeping my head absolutely clear. And to accomplish that, there was nothing I wouldn't do. As I lay me down to sleep, I wondered what sort of children my dead girlfriend and I might have had, if things had been different. I drifted off to sleep smiling at the thought of having a daughter as smart as Katniss, and a son as brave and good as Peeta.

We got into the Capitol toward the evening of the next day, after traversing several other Districts. I had kept my eyes open when we were going through inhabited areas, and had seen graffiti denouncing the Capitol here and there, as well as signs of unrest. Down deep, I smiled to myself. Katniss' and Peeta's stories had captivated people, and her mockingjay pin had become the symbol of rebellion against the Capitol. I had some plans for when we met with the other Victors. All of them would be present, either as Tributes or as mentors, and I knew them all, some very well indeed.

When we detrained, we were greeted by cheering crowds. They weren't allowed too close to us, but I could see and hear them. Against my own inclination (I was frazzled from travel and wanted nothing more than the comfort of our lodgings) I smiled and waved at them. Katniss ignored them, till I hissed: "Smile, sweetheart! Wave at them! Those are the people who can send you gifts in the Arena! You don't want to alienate them!" When she did as I said, it looked awfully forced to me, but those Capitol people were not close by, and did not know her as well as I did. They cheered twice as loudly, chanting her name. She was really loved in the Capitol, and I was sure that a lot of people were as furious as the people in District 12 about the chicanery that had forced her to risk her life in the Arena for a second time.

Once I had Katniss and Peeta settled in to our quarters, I went out for a while. While I liked the youngsters, we'd been in each other's pockets for a while and I wanted a bit of a break. And a drink, but I knew better than that. I had to keep a clear head.

I had no particular hope of surviving this; even with the training that Katniss, Peeta and I had done since we'd heard about the new rules for the Quarter Quell, twenty-four years of neglect and abuse had left my body in rather sad shape. Katniss, and, I had to admit, Peeta, were in much better shape than I was, even allowing for their youth. And I knew that some of the returning Tributes were also in tip-top shape, fit and limber and strong.

Down in the Mentors' lounge, where I'd gone from force of habit, I ran into some people I knew. Finnick Odare and Johanna Mason, two of my particular cronies, were sitting together watching a video. They were both going back into the Games, just like me. I pulled up a chair and joined them.

"Well. Good to see you again, Haymitch. I have to say, you look better than you have for a while," Johanna greeted me. "Planning to take me up on that offer I made?" I blushed. Ever since her first time as a Mentor, Johanna had made a point of flirting with me as hard as she could. We had hit it off from the start, and were longtime snarking buddies, making gnomic, bitter comments about life in the Districts and the shallow, airheaded people that surrounded us in the Capitol. I didn't know if Johanna meant it when she made advances to me, but I had never taken her up on it. I wasn't even sure if I could have if I'd tried. All those years of white liquor had not treated me kindly.

"Not this time, sweetheart. Did you see the Reaping in my district?"

"We both did," Finnick said, turning his attention away from the idiot box long enough to give me one of those dazzling smiles of his. "I would never have expected to see them saluting _you_ , Haymitch."

"It surprised me, too," I admitted. "How is Mags?" I had seen already how Mags, one of the oldest of us Victors, had volunteered to take the place of Annie Cresta, the girl Finnick loved. I wasn't surprised by that. Mags is a wonderful lady, and was very kind to me when I was new to Mentoring. She had been like a mother to many of us, and it tore at me that she was certain not to survive the upcoming Game.

"Mags is just fine. She's off with some of the other Mentors, catching up on things. You know her. She's still active and keeps fit, and can put in a full day on a fishing boat." Finnick and Mags' District 4 was mainly a fishing district, as District 12 does coal mining. Finnick winked. "Truth to tell, I think she's more fired up for this than I am!"

I chuckled, shaking my head. That did sound like Mags. When she was Mentoring, she took every opportunity she could to go off into the Capitol and learn what she could. I needed to have a talk with her, but weariness was beginning to drag me down, and I made my excuses and headed off to bed. Johanna, of course, asked if I wanted to be alone, and I assured her that I did, and it was nothing against her. She gave me a theatrical look of disappointment as I left.


	4. Chapter 4

The Unexpected Tribute

Chapter 4

by Technomad

Peeta Mellark

The Capitol, when we got there, was as gaudy as I remembered. We de-trained to find ourselves being greeted by a cheering crowd. We'd been wildly popular after our unexpected triumph last year, and people were chanting our names as we got into our transportation to our hotel. Katiniss was being her usual glum self, until Haymitch whispered something to her, at which point she plastered on a grin that looked about as phony as a plastic toy pickaxe. However, our admirers weren't close by, and didn't know her that well, so apparently it looked genuine; they cheered us even louder. I forced a grin of my own and waved back at them, as I "herded" my tributes (and isn't that something weird for me to write?) toward our waiting car.

Our quarters were just as luxurious as the last time, although as a mentor, I got different treatment from "my" tributes. I unpacked my overnight bag, pulled out some sleepwear, and wandered out into the common area of our suite to see what the others were up to. Katniss was sitting, staring at the videoscreen without really taking in the show, and I asked her where Haymitch was.

"He went out for a while," Katniss said, her voice a monotone. "He said he wanted to meet some of his old friends." I nodded. I figured he was probably networking, both with the other Tributes we'd be facing, and with the other mentors. I should have been out learning to do that at his side, along with Katniss, but I was tired, and I knew there'd be time to meet the other mentors while "my" Tributes were off with their prep teams. I sat down beside Katniss and tried to make sense of the show, a sort of game where people apparently competed to see who could make the biggest fool of themselves in return for a prize. I wished the Hunger Games were like that, instead of the deadly bloodbath that they were.

To my surprise, when Haymitch came in a couple of hours later, he was stone sober and clear-eyed. Katniss had nodded off, and I'd nearly gone to sleep myself, with her head on my shoulder. She wasn't wearing any perfume, but I liked the clean healthy girl smell of her skin and hair. Haymitch grinned and winked at me as he sat down in a chair nearby. Carefully, I untangled myself from Katniss and moved over closer so we could talk without waking her up. I knew she hadn't slept well on the train, and she needed her shut-eye.

"So, who did you see?" I asked, my voice low. Behind me, Katniss stirred, but didn't wake up.

Haymitch leaned forward, so we could talk as privately as was possible in this place. "Johanna Mason and Finnick Odare. Districts Seven and Four. They're both going back into the Arena, like me. I've known them both since they first became mentors. We caught up on some old times."

"I bet they were surprised to see you sober," I couldn't resist commenting. Haymitch gave me a look, and then quirked a grin. For a second, I could see the darkly-handsome Seam boy he'd been so long ago, before his Reaping.

"Oh, they were," Haymitch admitted. "Even for us mentors, I'm known for how much I love the bottle. However, they understood that this time of all times, I need a clear head and all my wits about me." Then he gave me a serious look. "I need _those_ more than you probably realize."

We shared a conspiratorial look. For all that I was now, nominally at least, a mentor, and he was a Tribute again, we shared one goal: Keep Katniss Everdeen alive, at all possible costs. Haymitch was still, in all of the main ways, our mentor, and I knew that he figured that he'd taken a shortcut on half his job by volunteering in my place, even though it was almost certain suicide. In the Arena, he would do all he could to protect Katniss. For a second, I had to look away as tears welled up in my eyes. There was no way I could ever thank him adequately.

Haymitch saw what was going on. A lot of people at home just think of him as a sloppy drunk, but he's actually very perceptive. "Hey, kid, don't feel bad about me," he said, his voice low. "I've had a longer run than I had any right to expect, after all. And seeing you two spit in the Capitol's eye was worth a lot to me." He grinned. "I bet that when that went on the screens back home everybody was cheering their heads off!"

I nodded, unable to speak. I'd been told that when the word came down that we were joint winners of the Games, people ran out of their houses all over District 12, dancing in the streets while everybody with a musical instrument contributed to the festivities. White liquor sold out almost instantly at the Hob, and the people who made the stuff brought out their hidden stores, passing them around without asking for payment. My brother had danced with Madge Undersee, the Mayor's daughter, while beside them Gale Hawthorne whirled Prim Everdeen around while she shrieked with joy. Mrs. Everdeen was crying in my father's arms while he cried on her shoulder. I wished I could have been there for that party, although the one they threw when we came home was nearly as nice. Seeing my mother kissing Haymitch Abernathy on the mouth was something I'd never expected to see, and from Haymitch's startled expression, not something he'd ever expected to happen. Or ever _wanted_ to have happen again.

Haymitch rose, patting my arm. "Come on. Get Katniss up, and let's all get some sleep. We've all got to be on top form tomorrow." He grinned again. "I can't wait to meet my prep team!" As I prodded Katniss awake enough to steer her off to her bed, I couldn't help but smile at the thought of the job of work that Haymitch's prep team had ahead of them. Compared to their usual victims, er, I mean, _subjects_ , he'd be a real challenge. And so would a lot of the older Tributes.

When I awoke, I found that Katniss had crawled in with me at some point or other. I poked her in the ribs, and she mumbled "Le'me alone a minute more, Prim…" before remembering everything and snapping awake, her eyes wide. "Peeta!" She blushed bright red. "Uh, I awoke and realized I was all alone…I'm not really used to sleeping alone."

I smiled at her. "Yeah, I can imagine. I'm sorry you aren't back at home with Prim right this minute." Her expression went somber, and I could tell that she was imagining how Prim must be feeling. "I wouldn't mind being at home myself," I said. "Except that there I wouldn't have you, would I?"

She gave me an unreadable look. "You never know," she answered. She got up, and I enjoyed the sight of her in her nightwear, modest though it was. "Come on. I've got to get ready for the prep team, and you've got networking to do…mentor." Reminded of unpleasant realities, I got up, and went to my bathroom to freshen up as Katniss slipped out back to her own room.

When I was ready to face the world, I came out to find that our Avox servants had prepared a magnificent breakfast for us. Looking at it, I remembered all the people back in District 12 who didn't have enough to eat, and felt guilty for a moment. Then I remembered that two of the three diners there today were going to go back into the Arena, to almost certain death, and sat down after helping Katniss with her chair and winning a smile from Haymitch. When Effie came in, Haymitch got up and did the same for her.

"Well!" Effie was trying to carry off her usual act, but I could see that it was harder than usual. "Here we all are, together again!" She picked up her glass and filled it; I noted approvingly that she was drinking coffee, not white liquor. Haymitch was drinking orange juice, and I followed his example, as did Katniss. We'd never had orange juice before our first trip to the Capitol, and I wondered which District it came from.

"What do I do now, Haymitch?" I asked. If we'd been from other Districts, we'd have had more mentors than just the one, but Haymitch was the only mentor District 12 had…and he'd not be along that day, since the prep teams were due in after breakfast to get Haymitch and Katniss ready for the Tributes' Parade. I'd be dealing with the other mentors, who were all strangers to me.

Haymitch bit into a sticky bun. Once he'd finished chewing his bite, he gave me a quizzical look. "Every year, there are new mentors. The old hands will take you in hand, they all know what it's like. Like I told you after you came home last year, you're now a member for life of the most exclusive club in Panem. They'll coach you through what you need to know."

I was somewhat reassured, but still, I'd have given a lot to have Haymitch with me when the prep teams came to lead Haymitch and Katniss off to be transformed. When they'd gone, a strange man peeked in, smiling when our eyes met. "Hello! I'm Fritz Baum, from District Seven. Want to come and meet your fellow Mentors?" He winked. "Don't worry. None of us bite." After a moment's pause, he went on: "Can't say the same of all of this year's Tributes, though."

I didn't know what he meant at first, but after I got to the Mentors' Lounge, I found out. The people lounging around were of all ages, from late teens in one or two cases on up to fairly old. They were looking at a video of a fierce-looking girl grinning around with her teeth filed down to points. I gave Fritz a questioning look.

"That's Enobaria, from District Two. She won her Games by biting out the throat of the last one in the Arena with her, and after that, she had her teeth filed down to points by a Capitol dentist." Looking at her, I shuddered slightly. She looked utterly mad to me, and I was suddenly very glad not to be facing her in the Arena.

"This the new guy?" That was a very attractive blonde woman, sitting off in one of the corners with a book. When I looked at her more closely, I noticed that one of her hands was artificial, just like my foot. She looked me up and down, like I was something in the market. "You're Peeta Mellark, aren't you?"

"Sure am," I said, mountain manners kicking in. "And you are…?"

"Esmeralda. Esmeralda Smith, from District One. I'm mentoring Cashmere and Gloss." I nodded. I knew who Cashmere and Gloss were. They were siblings, a brother and sister, who had won back-to-back Hunger Games a few years ago. A lot of boys I knew had had their first crushes on Cashmere. I was too fixated on Katniss to follow their example, but she had invaded my nighttime dreams on occasion. And Katniss had told me that quite a few girls in District Twelve would have been delighted if Gloss had swooped down and carried them off, whether for a night of fun or for always.

I suddenly felt curious. I'd had little or nothing to do with the other Districts; when Katniss and I had gone on our Victory Tour, we'd had almost no contact with the people who'd been dragged in to see us. An image flashed before my eyes for a second; it was Glimmer's parents, standing there looking at me like I was a ghost or something as I recited my canned speech. Even though there was nothing I could have done to save their daughter, I couldn't have blamed them for hating me and Katniss. I sat down with Esmeralda. "So, what do you do in District One, anyway?"

"We make luxury goods, for the Capitol. The jewelry people wear here, ornaments, things like that." She gave me a rueful grin. "Nothing essential to life, like your coal, I'm afraid. We have a reputation for being rather frivolous."

 _Not in the Arena_ , I thought to myself, but kept that thought private. District One had had many Victors over the years, and, looking around the room, I noticed others with the same general look as Esmeralda. Since the setting up of the Districts, each has tended to develop a "look" of its own, like we have in District 12, with the "Seam look"-dark hair, grey eyes. It's by no means universal (I'm an exception myself, after all) but if you've been to the Districts, it's often not hard to pick out a particular District resident's District from how they look.

Other mentors came over, introducing themselves. I soon lost track of names, and Esmeralda grinned at me. "Don't sweat it. It can be a little overwhelming at first. You'll soon get to know everybody. We see each other every year, and, as Haymitch likes to say, this is the most exclusive club in Panem." A shadow passed over her face. "That said, it's not going to be the same without Haymitch. And Johanna. Those two could snark at each other for hours, and it was always hilarious to listen to."

"Yeah, they were a hoot," another mentor said. With his dark skin, I could see that he was from District Eleven. I wondered if he were kin to Rue, Katniss' friend and ally. He saw me watching him. "I don't know if you caught my name earlier, but in case you didn't, I'm Timothy from District Eleven."

"I figured out you were from District Eleven already," I said. Timothy laughed, a deep rumble.

"Yeah, we're pretty distinctive, aren't we? I won the Sixty-Ninth Games, years ago. Since then, except for this yearly ordeal, I've got to say I've had a fairly easy life." A shadow passed across his face for a second. "But oh, the price I had to pay for it!"

For a second, the room went silent. We in that room were probably the most privileged people in Panem, at least outside of the Capitol elite itself. Our lives contrast hugely with the day-to-day lives of our neighbors and relatives in the Districts, but we pay for them in ways I have too much compassion to wish on anybody else. Even most of the Capitol people.

I'd talked some with Effie Trinket, and what she had told me about life in the Capitol made me hate the average Capitol citizen a lot less. She knew very little about day-to-day life in the Districts, or where the food she ate, the clothes she wore, and the things she used actually came from, but if she was telling the truth (and she had no reason to lie as far as I could tell) compared to the average Capitol citizen, she was well-informed and very knowledgable about how the world worked.

I'd been shocked when I found out that Effie didn't know that coal was mined underground, and she'd been horrified to find out that that was the case. Effie, it turned out, was mildly claustrophobic, and the thought of going down a typical coal shaft gave her the screaming jitters. Even if she'd been born there, she wouldn't have done well in District 12.

My fellow mentors and I spent the next few hours comparing notes on what our Districts did. I have to say, it was an educational experience. There's a lot more to the Panem economy than I would have thought back before my first Reaping.

The other mentors ranged in age to just a little older than I was, on up to old age. Quite a few of them had scars, or even missing parts here and there. one thing you can not avoid in the Hunger Games is injury, and even the Capitol's doctors can't help you if the injury occurs early enough in the Games for them not to be able to get to it in time. I noticed several eyepatches, a ragged stump of an ear, and a couple of artificial hands, as well as missing fingers and suggestive scars on the parts of them not covered with clothing. For a second, I remembered my artificial foot. Normally, I don't think about it much. It's just become part of my morning routine. Get up, yawn, roll over, sit up, put on my foot, stand up and march off to face another day. It works really well, I have to say. Once it's in place, it's almost as though I never lost that foot, except that I don't feel it.

One of the mentors, a man about Haymitch's age, smiled at me and said: "You know, having Haymitch back in the games made some people here in the Capitol really unhappy." Everybody smiled at that, but it wasn't very pleasant smiles.

"Who? You mean President Snow?" I knew that Panem's President had been furious about us both surviving the Seventy-Fourth Games, and had even visited District Twelve to try to frighten Katniss. I must say, finding that man in my house would frighten _me_. On the surface, he looked like every picture of a benevolent grandfather I've ever seen, but I'd seen him up close, when he put the crown of victory on my head and Katniss', and I'd seen straight into his eyes. I'd seen kinder eyes on a rattlesnake that I'd found coiled up on our front porch one morning.

I thought of President Snow as an outer disguise worn by something not human. Something predatory and alien, something with an eternal, insatiable hunger driving it on. I would no sooner trust him than I would deliberately eat poison.

"No, it isn't President Snow, although rumor has it he _really_ wasn't happy about the end of your Games," Fritz assured me. "The people he's talking about are the bookmakers."

"Bookmakers? You mean people who publish or print books?" Everybody else laughed, but gently. I could tell that they thought I was awfully naïve.

"What he means is the people who 'make book,' sweetie," Esmeralda explained. "They manage the betting on sporting events, elections…and the Hunger Games." She leaned back, and suddenly reminded me of a teacher I'd had in school. She was much younger and more attractive than the teacher (not that that would be difficult) but they used the same gestures. I wondered if she taught school back in District One, and what she taught, if anything.

"When the rules of the Quarter Quell were announced," she went on, warming to her subject, "everybody assumed that you would be competing alongside Katniss. So that was how the bookmakers figured their odds. Nobody expected Haymitch to volunteer. Even we didn't, and we probably know him better than anybody."

Suddenly, a blare from the television interrupted our colloquy. "Heads up! The Tribute Parade is about to begin!" someone called out. As the first notes of "The Horn of Plenty" rolled from the speakers, we, like everybody else in Panem (who didn't want to become an Avox, or worse) stood to attention and sang along. Our singing was tinged with a note of irony, but we sang along, and that was all that was required.

I have to admit, I'd have loved to see Haymitch's expression when he was put into the "man on fire" costume. It had been a shock to me when I'd first seen it, but I had to admit, watching it on replays, it looked striking.

END Chapter 4


	5. Chapter 5

The Unexpected Tribute

Chapter Five

by Technomad

Katniss Everdeen

The morning after we arrived at the Capitol, we were notified that our prep teams would be in after we were done with breakfast to "make us presentable" for the upcoming Tributes' Parade. Effie and I shared glances. "Pity it couldn't be you instead of me, at least for the parade," I told her. "They'd have a lot less of a job of work to do on you than they do on me. I'm surprised that the Citizens didn't throw rotten vegetables at me, last time I rode in one of these."

Effie snorted a very unladylike snort. "Nonsense, Katniss! Your skin is clean and clear, which is a wonderful canvas for the makeup artist to work on, and your bone structure…oh, there are many women in the Capitol who'd give anything for it! Your figure is excellent, and needs no artificial enhancements. All in all, I'd say that your prep team has one of the easiest jobs of any of them!"

We both cut our eyes over to Haymitch. He was oblivious, watching as one of the Avox servants refilled his coffee cup. Effie and I looked at each other again. Without a word being said, we both knew what the other was thinking: _My prep team may have a fairly easy job ahead of them, but Haymitch's team have an uphill battle to fight!_ Actually, for someone who'd taken such poor care of himself for so long, Haymitch was surprisingly well-conditioned. Even for a Victor, life in District Twelve was strenuous. No less than the humblest resident, he had to go up and down hills on foot, and that had helped keep him in some sort of shape. And we'd been working out, trying to train as though we were Career Tributes, before our Reaping. Haymitch giving up drinking, albeit not entirely of his own free will, had to have helped, too.

Sure enough, after our breakfast things were cleared away, the door buzzer sounded, and an Avox let our prep teams in. Flavius, Octavia and Venia were all clearly glad to see me, and sorry to see me at the same time. They had a wheelchair, and I got into it to let them wheel me off to where they would be working their weird arts. Down deep, I still didn't think they could make such an ugly duckling as me into a glorious swan, but I had learned to let them do their work. They were the experts and I was not.

Once we were in the studio, they got to work. I knew to let them work, since they had a much better idea of what needed doing (at least by Capitol standards) than I did, and every little bit helped when it came to getting sponsors. And we would need sponsors desperately, once we were in the Arena. I had come to know them, though, in their short visit to my District back before the change to the rules for the Quarter Quell had been announced, and I could clearly see that they were very unhappy. I dared to hope that discontent at this blatant change of the rules was widespread in the Capitol. Even such as President Snow could not, at seventh and last, rule against the wishes of those he ruled.

After a few minutes, Flavius muttered: "I never thought I'd have to do this twice for the same client!" I looked at him, and I could see tears at the corners of his eyes. "I want you to know that we were just as shocked as you must have been by the news!"

I was very touched. If I had chosen to report those words, he'd have been an Avox before the Games could begin, and we both knew it. However, I'd sooner have cut my own tongue out than do any such thing. I thought the whole system of making people Avoxes was one of the most horrible things about our society. And that included even the Hunger Games! In the Arena, I at least stood a chance, as I had proven the year previous. A voiceless slave had no chance at all.

"I wasn't happy about this. None of us in District Twelve were. Did you all see the videos of my Reaping this year, or weren't they shown here?"

Venia paused in trimming my hair to nod. "Oh, we saw them. We were so frightened for poor Peeta, with his artificial foot! Of course, compared to some of the other returning Tributes, he's in fine shape, but still…!"

"We'd never expected for Mr. Abernathy to step forward! You could have knocked us down with feathers!" Octavia caught the look in my eye, and giggled slightly. She knew I was remembering her visit to my District, when the three of them had been chattering about what a mistake it was to wear a feathered costume to some party or other.

"The bookmakers had incredible odds on that happening! I know several people who bet on it, who made incredible sums!" Venia rolled her eyes. I had always known that people in the Capitol gambled on the Games, but I hadn't known that they also bet on the Reapings.

When they were done, I was standing in my bare feet, wrapped in a big fluffy towel that I'd have loved to take back home to District Twelve with me, staring at myself in a mirror. I looked…attractive! I wasn't used to seeing myself as attractive, because at home, I had too much on my mind to worry about pulling boys, the way people like Madge Undersee could. And since becoming a Victor, I'd been all-but-acknowledged as engaged to Peeta Mellark, so I hadn't worried about it. I knew that to Peeta, I would always be beautiful. While it had never been a priority of mine, I'm still female enough to want to look good.

Cinna came in, looking me over approvingly. Even though he's male and quite attractive (I had visions of him at home, being swarmed by my sillier girl classmates) I felt completely un-self-conscious about him looking at me. I tended to classify him, mentally, as "off limits." And while he'd seen me naked and in all states of undress, he had never so much as twitched an eyelid to indicate that he saw me as a possible partner, or as a sexual being at all. For a second, I wondered if he was like some of the men I'd heard about in the Capitol…the ones who were attracted to other men?

"You did your usual excellent job," Cinna told my prep team, making them smile. He always remembered that they were people, too, and made sure to let them know that he appreciated their efforts. They took pride in their skills; making it onto a Hunger Games prep team, even one for a district as down-at-heels as my own Twelve, was a matter of fierce competition, I had been told. Haymitch had described the contests that were held to select those who would be on the prep teams, and save that they weren't lethal, they sounded just about as intense as the Games.

Under the Capitol's placid surface bitter rivalries seethed, I had learned. Often they were over matters that we in the Districts would have dismissed as impossibly trivial, but to the Capitol residents, they were, if not quite matters of life and death, matters that they took very seriously, indeed. I thought that a lot of that was just due to not having anything important and real to do, so they found trivialities to occupy their minds. If they'd had to earn their livings in the real world, the way we in the Districts did, that would have almost certainly scotched a lot of those stupid feuds.

"Here's your costume for the parade, Katniss," Cinna said, holding it out to me. It looked very like the "Girl on Fire" getup he'd had me in the year before, and I shucked off my towel to climb into it. When I was dressed, he walked around me, making sure that everything was right. "Here's the control. It controls the flames on both of your costumes. I figured it was better to have it in your hands, since I don't know how Mr. Abernathy feels about fire, and a lot of the effect of this is lost if the flames aren't there."

I nodded, taking the control and putting it into my pocket where I could get at it. We walked out together, and met Haymitch, who was just coming out from his own session with the prep team. He was in a costume just about like mine, and at first, I nearly didn't recognize him. When I did, my eyes went wide involuntarily.

I had known him all my life, but I had never, no, not once, seen him as well-groomed as he was at that moment. He was cleanly shaven, and they'd done something or other to minimize the telltale puffiness of his face. His hair was freshly washed and styled, and I could see that he'd once been a real looker. For that matter, if he'd looked like that around District Twelve, between his looks and his Victor's wealth and privileges, there'd have been a line of silly women outside his door, clamoring for his attention.

Haymitch saw my expression. Not much gets past him. He quirked a grin. "Dare I hope that I don't look too unbearably hideous?" Then he looked me up and down, nearly as impersonally as Cinna, but not quite. I got the feeling that he could see me as an attractive young woman, and to my surprise, I found myself liking that idea. "At least with the Girl on Fire beside me, nobody will be paying attention to me!"

Cinna cleared his throat. "I wouldn't be too sure of that, Haymitch." I was a little startled at how familiarly Cinna addressed him, but then I remembered that they would have got to know each other the previous year. "People were startled when you volunteered in Peeta's place, but when they got used to the idea, they found they liked it. You've become a rather unlikely hero to a lot of people here."

Haymitch visibly chewed that idea over. "Well…I've been called a lot of things, but 'hero' is a new one. Shall we go to get ready for the Tributes' Parade?" We walked toward the underground area where our chariots and horses awaited us. Once we got to the entrance, Cinna peeled off, heading for the bleachers where he and the most privileged of the Capitol's citizens would watch the Tributes' Parade live. The rest of them would be viewing it on television, with Caesar Flickerman providing his usual commentary. I wondered what Caesar would be saying, and made a mental note to watch it later in my quarters.

Haymitch and I were looking over our chariot. At least our horses were no trouble; they had some sort of electronic controls in their brains to keep them doing what they were supposed to be doing, rather than running amok or balking. I'd had a few chances to talk with some people from District 10, and they had told me a lot about what spooked or balky horses could be like. Trust President Snow to make sure that couldn't happen at the Tributes' Parade!

I heard a throat being cleared behind me, and turned to find myself staring at one of the most gorgeous men I'd ever seen in my life. The fact that he was wearing a few brief wisps of nothing-much over a skimpy pair of briefs and skimpy sandals didn't hurt any. "Hello. You'd be Katniss Everdeen, the 'Girl on Fire?'" I gulped and nodded wordlessly. "I'm Finnick Odare. Would you like a sugar cube?" He held out a small white cube to me. "They're supposed to be for the horses, but they have years to eat sugar. We…well, we have to take what sweet things we can while we can."

I shook my head. I'd never had much of a taste for sweets as such, even if we could have afforded them more frequently. Finnick leaned closer. "I'm sorry about this whole Quarter Quell thing. You could have made out like a bandit here in the Capitol. Money, jewels, clothes…" He grinned at me, and although I wasn't attracted to him, I could see why other women (and men? Did they really do that, here in the Capitol? They certainly _didn't_ in District Twelve!) found him so attractive.

I got the distinct feeling that his whole "sex on a stick" thing was an act. That might have been part of why I wasn't more than theoretically interested in him. I wondered what he really wanted. Hoping to discourage his interest in me, I said "Well, I have more money than I can use, and I'm not interested in jewels, or fancy clothes. What do you do with your vast wealth, anyway?"

"Oh, I haven't dealt in anything so commonplace as money in years!" He leaned closer, lowering his voice. "I deal in _secrets_. So tell me, Girl on Fire. What are your secrets?"

"I'm an open book, Finnick," I said lightly. "Everybody else seems to know all my secrets before I do myself."

Haymitch came up behind Finnick and put his hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Corrupting my District partner…and mentee?" he asked. While his tone was light, I could tell that there were undertones there, undertones that I couldn't figure out. I reminded myself that Haymitch and Finnick had known each other for years.

Finnick's eyes went as wide as mine must have when I first saw him, when he saw how Haymitch was looking. "Haymitch Abernathy, you lady-killer, you!" he said, his voice edged with amusement. "Are you muscling in on my act? You never looked so good in all your life! Maybe I should be wondering about _you_ corrupting the sweet, innocent Girl on Fire?" He shook his head in wonder. "I'd never thought to see you looking like this! You look twenty years younger than I've ever seen you!"

Haymitch shook his head. "Not me. She's spoken for. All of Panem knows about that, I think." A shadow passed across his face for a second. "In any case, that sort of thing is in the past for me."

"Oh, yes! How could I have let that slip my mind?" I could see in Finnick's eyes that he hadn't forgotten Peeta's existence for one second, and I wondered what he was really up to. "I am sorry that we'll all miss your wedding, Katniss," he said, as a loudspeaker announced that it was time for us to board our chariots for the Tributes' Parade.

As we climbed aboard, Haymitch muttered: "This time, stare straight ahead. Ignore the crowds. Act as though they are totally beneath your notice. You _do_ have the control for that special effect on you?"

I nodded. "That, I can do. Easily." While I was fond of my prep team, and had come to know Effie well enough to see the human being behind the Capitol façade, I still thought that most Capitol citizens were brainless parasites. Snubbing them would be a lot easier than pretending that I liked them. I patted the small pocket where the control was riding, to reassure myself that it was there.

To the sound of the first notes of _The Horn of Plenty_ , the Panem national anthem, we began to move forward, in order of our Districts, out from the shady shelter where we had boarded our chariots, into the bright, hot sunlight of a Capitol summer day. At the sight of the first chariots, the crowd set up a roar that nearly drowned out the music.

Whether it was due to training or electronic enhancements, our horses moved forward in a sedate trot, pulling our chariot along over the smooth surface. We passed kettledrummers, beating their instruments in perfect time, as the music soared and swelled. For a second, I wished bitterly that Panem could be a normal country, so I could join in on the anthem myself instead of feeling like it didn't include me. For all that I hated everything the Panem government stood for, I had to admit that they had a very stirring song.

At the sight of our chariot, the crowd went crazy, or crazier. They roared and screamed, chanting my name. Mindful of Haymitch's instructions, I ignored them completely, staring straight ahead as though Haymitch and I were a hundred miles from anybody else. Haymitch muttered, just loud enough for me to hear: "Time for the fire!" I unobtrusively hit the toggle on the control, and suddenly we were enveloped in heatless flames. I'd expected Haymitch to be startled by it, but he looked straight ahead with no more expression than I had. He was really a very cool customer, and for a second, I wondered what he'd been like before his Reaping. Had there been a girl interested in him then? I made a mental note to ask the older people if I got back to District Twelve alive. There were people still there who had known him before he went off to the Capitol.

Just like last year, we trotted down the length of the arena so that everybody could get a good look at us, and (or so I had been told) so the bookmakers could start making odds on which of us would be the one to survive the Games. At the end, there was a pylon in a roundabout, and we trotted around it, under the eye of none other than President Snow. I glanced up as we went past, and I was gratified to note that he looked nonplussed. He had to have been targeting Peeta at least as much as me, if not more, and having to deal with Haymitch instead would have thrown off his calculations. Serve him right!

However, President Snow was an old hand at this sort of thing, and had probably had to deal with the unexpected before. To hear him, nothing at all was wrong. He made a variation of his usual speech, welcoming us Tributes and "saluting" us for our "gallant sacrifice." I supposed that in the case of the Career Tributes, it was a voluntary thing, so the word "sacrifice" wasn't inappropriate, but this year, even they had been coerced into coming, and were probably just as indignant as I'd heard the Capitol citizens were.

Finally, they released us, and I was glad to see the cool, shady shelter beckoning ahead of us. While my costume wasn't as uncomfortable or prone to overheating as some I saw on other Districts' Tributes, I would still be glad to get out of it and into a cool bath. Not far away, I saw a couple of poor wretches dressed as trees, of all outlandish things, and they looked dreadfully overheated. I just hoped that they wouldn't faint, or would not faint in public.

END Chapter 05


	6. Chapter 6

The Unexpected Tribute

Chapter Six

by Technomad

 _From the unpublished writings of Haymitch Abernathy_

I had not looked forward to my upcoming ordeal under the hands of my prep team. I knew they had an uphill fight ahead of them, and I forced myself to relax as they came in to take me to where they would work their arcane arts. To win sponsors, and see that Katniss got home safe and alive as the winner of this year's Hunger Games, no sacrifice was too great. Particularly not my dignity. It wasn't as though I'd worried about that in many years, after all. What could the Capitol do to me to make me look a bigger fool than I had done myself, back in District Twelve?

My previous stint as a Tribute had been twenty-five years ago, and I had known that my previous prep team had long since retired from the field. Competition for a slot on a prep team was fierce, and even longtime prep team members could be displaced by a promising up-and-comer who did well in the competitions held every year. Many of the Capitol's fashions were started by an ambitious young man or woman who longed to serve on a prep team, and whose creations in the competition had caught the Capitol residents' jaded eyes.

You can imagine my surprise when Sulla, the head of my previous prep team, came in, followed by Drusilla and Pulcher, the other two members. They'd aged…I hadn't seen them, the last few times I'd been to the Capitol…but they were still quite recognizable. Sulla came forward, clasping my hand in both of his.

"We were very surprised when you stepped forward to volunteer, Haymitch," Sulla said. He sounded like he was choking back tears. "We'd never have expected it of you!"

"You made us very proud, Haymitch," Drusilla breathed. She leaned down and gave me a kiss. That was the first kiss I'd had in more than a quarter of a century. The girl I'd loved before my Reaping was dead by the time I got home, along with my family, as the Capitol's little payback for me making them look like fools. I was rather startled by it, and Drusilla's eyes went wide. "Oh! I didn't mean to offend you, Haymitch!"

"I'm not offended," I assured her. "And I'm glad you've come to see me. I've neglected you, these past few years, I think." I winked at her. "You've held up better than _I_ have!" Drusilla gave me a watery smile, and Sulla and Pulcher both grinned. Capitol people are so vain. "Look, I'd love to catch up, but I think my current prep team is itching to show off how _they_ can make a silk purse out of a sow's ear!" They waved as I was wheeled off to the preparation chamber.

The indignities I suffered, I prefer to pass over in silence. I submitted to the ordeal with grim determination, no matter how much I longed to make a scene and rebel. I kept one thought firmly in the front of my mind: my goal in this was to get Katniss Everdeen safely back to District 12, at any cost whatsoever. It was for that that I had foregone drinking, no matter how much my body cried out for the alcohol it had become acclimated to since my previous victory in the Arena. It was for that that I had pushed myself forward, sidelining Peeta against his will. And it would be for that that I laid down my life in the upcoming Hunger Games.

I did not regret the near certainty of my upcoming death. Life had long been a dreadful burden to me, and I would not be sorry when it came to an end. I had been, half-unconsciously, trying to kill myself for twenty-four years, but no matter how much white liquor I poured down my throat, my body stubbornly refused to give up.

Katniss was, in all ways, my exact opposite. Where I was ugly, she was beautiful, for all that she refused to play it up the way some other girls in District 12 did. Where I was weak, hiding in my house and trying to dive down a bottle, she was strong; strong as steel. She'd been the main support of her family ever since her father's death, and had to step in to be a mother to her little sister Prim as best she could. And she had done a great job, at least as far as I could judge.

Katniss deserved to live if anybody in this hell-country did. Far more than I did. No matter what it took, I'd see her safe home.

I was so lost in my thoughts that I didn't catch my prep team telling me that they were done. When they stood me up and brought in a full-length mirror, my eyes went wide. I hadn't looked that good in years! I was used to seeing, on the rare occasions that I needed to check a mirror, a puffy, bleary-eyed face framed by lank hair and covered with unshaven stubble. Instead, I looked distinctly like the young man I had been when I was first Reaped.

"I'd have said this was impossible!" My delighted smile told my team all they needed to know. "You must be magicians! I'd have never believed it if I hadn't seen it!" I shook their hands. "You're geniuses!" They smiled and smiled. While I do have the reputation of being a surly drunk back home in District 12, I've been to the Capitol more than enough times to know how to deal with Capitol people. Many of them are as hungry for approval as so many puppies. And they, along with their families, would be watching the Games. If a few well-deserved compliments for their skills meant that they might send Katniss and me things we needed in the Arena, it was effort I was glad to put in.

"You're looking good, Haymitch!" I turned, and there was Cinna, looking me up and down. While I knew that some men in the Capitol liked other men, Cinna had never given me that impression. Instead, his look was cool and professional. To him, I was a subject for his art. "I've got your suit right here!" He held out a black one-piece garment, made of some slick material I couldn't identify.

As I struggled into the tight-fitting garment, I asked: "Flames and all?" Along with the rest of Panem, I'd been startled and delighted with the heatless flames that had come from Peeta's and Katniss' costumes the previous year. I wondered how the effect was done, but knew I wouldn't have the time to find out.

"Flames and all, Haymitch," Cinna assured me. "Katniss has the control. She'll know when to use it." We exchanged nods. "Good luck, Haymitch," Cinna murmured, as I went out to get ready for the Tributes' Parade. "Remember: No smiles, no waves to the audience. Act like they're totally beneath you." I figured that was instructions I'd have no problem following. While I did know a good few Capitol citizens, my impression of them, on the whole, was that they were pampered and weak. None of them would have survived long in the Districts.

When I got to where we were to mount our chariots, I saw my old friend Finnick Odare, trying to weave his spells over Katniss. Katniss, I noted proudly, wasn't buying his act for a second. He was trying to dazzle her, but for all the success he was seeing, he might as well have been trying to charm a statue. I made my presence known, and Finnick and I exchanged pleasantries. Then the signal sounded for us to mount our chariots for the Tributes' Parade.

We rolled out into the bright sunlight. Every time they hold the Tributes' Parade, it seems, the weather cooperates. I've seen many of them, and never once, to my best recollection, has the weather been overcast, much less rainy or foggy. I've wondered if the people in the Capitol can even control the weather, or if they're just careful to time these things for times when the weather's predicted to be perfect.

As the notes of the national anthem sounded, with the crowd singing along and drummers beating drums in perfect time, we proceeded down the path to the roundabout where President Snow waited for us in his raised stand. I have to admit, I rather enjoyed the ride. The horses they use for these parades are very well-trained, and the ride was smooth. I was gratified to hear a loud gasp from the crowd when Katniss hit the control and the heatless flames burst from our costumes.

We reached the end, making our turn around the pylon with the rest of the Tributes, and stopped to hear President Snow's speech. I had noticed that he had given us a very odd look when we came in, and I wondered what that sociopathic swine was thinking.

I knew that having me, instead of Peeta, in the games had to have thrown his calculations off. He hadn't forgiven Peeta or Katniss for making his previous Gamemaster look like a fool. I hadn't spent as much time in the Capitol as I had without learning something about how Snow operated. He had something planned…something sneaky and underhanded, probably.

At least I knew I was personally reasonably safe until the time that we hit the Arena itself. The rules of the Games were clear: each District had two Tributes in the game. No more, no less. Peeta was a Mentor, and could not be touched. Re-designating him as a Tribute, particularly after I had volunteered, would be as much a violation of the usual rules as the changes they had done to "spice up" the last Games. Once I was in the Arena, I, just like Katniss, would be a particular target, but until then I was safe enough.

While I was sure that President Snow was furious, you wouldn't have known it from his speech. He gracefully welcomed us Tributes, saluting our "sacrifice," and announced that the Games would go on. When he was done, our chariots' horses began to trot again, taking us back to where we had come. Once we were back in the cool shade, I dismounted, helping Katniss down like a gentleman. She gave me a rather startled look. Peeta came up to see to our needs.

"Right now, I want a drink," I announced. Katniss and Peeta both gave me narrow-eyed looks. "Oh, I don't mean white liquor, or anything alcoholic!" It had been hot out there, and that costume held in heat very well, for all that the "flames" were some sort of illusion or trick, not real fire. I wiped sweat off my brow. "Right now, I'd give anything for a big pitcher of icy-cold lemonade!" I'd never had lemonade before coming to the Capitol, and I loved the stuff.

Peeta and Katniss exchanged glances. Some message passed between them, one I could not decipher. Then Katniss came up to me, putting her hand gently on my chest. "Thank you, Haymitch," she said softly. "We know this is really hard on you. Particularly at _your_ age!"

I was torn between being touched and amusement. "Hey, now, Katniss, don't count me out quite yet!" I gave Peeta a wink. "I'm older than you are, but that doesn't make some sort of helpless grandfather!" Clearly, Katniss and Peeta had thought of me that way; the comic amazement on their faces was balm to my soul. "When we get a chance, you need to see the vids of my win in the last Quarter Quell!"

Talking together in friendly wise, we went toward the elevators back up to where we were staying. As we got into the elevator, Johanna Mason came up, in a tree costume that I privately thought looked utterly ridiculous on her.

"Hi, Haymitch!" she said, utterly at ease. She gave everybody a sunny smile. As the elevator went up, she began unfastening her costume. "My stylist is the biggest idiot in the Capitol! Every year, he has the Tributes from my District dressed up as _trees_! I wish we had Cinna instead!" The elevator started up, and she casually started stripping off, leaving herself naked except for a pair of slippers. The tree costume was left, scorned, on the elevator floor and she paid it no more mind. As the elevator went up, she chatted to us, completely unconcerned…at least on the surface.

I was amused, but used to this. Johanna had always made a point of stagily trying to seduce me. While I will admit that I enjoyed the show…I _am_ a man, after all…I'd never taken her up on any of her offers. Not only was I not sure that she really meant to go through with it, but after all those years of white liquor and neglect, I honestly wasn't sure if I could have come through with my end of things.

While I was amused, I could tell that Katniss was seething. She gave Peeta a Glare of Doom, promising dire retribution if he openly expressed appreciation of Johanna's body. I struggled to suppress a smile. For all that I knew that the romance between them had been originally cooked up to try to garner sympathy in the previous Games, it seemed to have developed a life of its own. Katniss didn't need to worry, though. Peeta worshipped the water he thought she walked on, and for him, there was no other girl in the world. If Johanna thought she was going to entangle him in her sexual web, she was due for a disappointment.

Johanna, herself, knew full well that she had set the cat among the pigeons, and I could tell that she was quite amused herself at the trouble she was stirring up. When the elevator got to her floor, five floors below ours, she walked out of the elevator, waving goodbye as casually as though we met every day at the Hob in District 12. Her poor costume was all that was left of her in that elevator…that, and Katniss' seething at Peeta. What did she expect of him, I wondered?

I decided to draw her ire away from poor hapless Peeta. "She's always doing things like that," I drawled, as the elevator began to take us up to our own quarters. "Ever since her first stint as a Mentor, she's been trying to seduce me."

As I'd intended, this distracted Katniss completely. " _You?_ But…but…" her voice trailed off as she tried to figure out a way to express her utter disbelief without sounding rude. Like all of us from District 12, mountain manners are burned into her brain. I don't think she could deliberately be rude to an elder any more than I think she could flap her arms and fly. Whatever else can be said about her, nobody could ever accuse Katniss Everdeen of being deliberately insolent. Her parents did a splendid job raising her.

"Yes, _me_!" Suddenly I was a little irritated with Katniss. "Okay, I'm older than you are, but I'm not dead _quite_ yet! And just because _you'd_ rather feed yourself to muttations than have anything to do with me in _that_ way, doesn't mean that _all_ women find me unattractive!" Katniss paled at the thought that she'd offended me. Peeta, forgotten for the moment, watched, wide-eyed.

"I'm sorry, Haymitch!" Katniss began to apologize, all but stumbling over her own words. "I meant no offense! It's just that I don't think of you in _that_ way!" She blushed. "I mean, you've never shown any interest in anybody, ever since I can remember!"

I felt very, very old. "Look," I said, as we got to our floor and got out, "when we're back in our quarters, I'll tell you the whole sad tale. There are reasons why I keep people as far away from me as I can." An Avox came in to collect Johanna's costume, which pleased me in some obscure way. While I thought it was silly and stupid, I just hate to see waste, which is one of the things I detest most about the Capitol and all that it stands for.

We were silent until we were in the main living area of our quarters, all ensconced in comfortable chairs. Peeta and Katniss looked at me, like children eager for a story. For a second, I wondered what it would be like to have children as good as they were, until I suppressed that idea ruthlessly.

"Well," I said, "you've got to remember, this is quite a long time ago. Back before I was Reaped, I was kind of popular with the girls in the District." The way Katniss and Peeta looked at me, you'd have thought I said that I used to fly by flapping my arms. "Yes, I wasn't always the way you see me now. You'll see when you watch the vids of my Games, and my interview with Flickerman."

Katniss and Peeta sat together, wide-eyed, for all the world like small children about to hear a story. "Back before I was reaped, I had a girlfriend. She was a Seam girl, like me. I was doing well enough in school to hope to get a job in mine administration…keeping track of what was needed, how much coal was coming up, and things like that. She was all in favor of _that_. Her uncles had been killed down the mines, and she didn't like the idea of the guy she loved going the same way."

Katniss closed her eyes for a second. I knew that she could relate to that in a way that Peeta, for all that he'd grown up in District 12 himself, couldn't. For a second, I felt shamed at having to pry at old wounds this way. Then I went on:

"When I was Reaped, I was Reaped along with Maysilee Donner. You know her niece, I think. She was one of a pair of twins. I don't even remember the names of the others who were reaped with me," I admitted, slightly ashamed of myself. "I haven't thought about them in years. I try not to think about these things."

"Hence, the white liquor," Peeta said. I gave him an approving nod. While Katniss may well have more raw brainpower, I do think Peeta uses what he has better.

"Yeah," I admitted. "In any case, as you know, I was the one who came back alive. You'll see just how when you watch my Game vid. However, the Capitol felt that I'd made fools of them by using the properties of the Arena in a way they hadn't anticipated. I was crowned Victor, District 12 got a lot of extra supplies that year, all right and proper." I paused for a moment. "But my parents, my younger brother and my girlfriend were all killed a couple of weeks after my victory. After that, I just decided it was better to be alone."

"That's terrible!" Katniss gasped. I gave her a mocking grin.

"Welcome to Panem, sweetheart." Then something she wore caught my eye. "You know that mockingjay pin you wear, Katniss?"

Katniss looked a little startled. "Yes. Madge Undersee gave it to me for luck in the Games."

"Madge didn't tell you who wore it before, did she?" Katniss stared at me, wide-eyed. "Maysilee wore it first. She was Madge's aunt. Please, wear it when we go into the Arena. It'll be like she's with me, again. I never did really forgive myself for not being able to keep her alive."

With that, I went into my room. I had torn the scabs off a lot of old wounds with that story, and without white liquor to numb the pain, I did not want my partner or my "Mentor" to see me crying.


End file.
